Diary of a Pubic Hair
by AllieAmberwhite
Summary: Isabelle Lightwood has a pubic hair named Larry who documents everything that goes down in the place the Pubes call, THE SNATCH.
1. Chapter 1

**WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.**

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><p>Dear Readers,<p>

I am a pubic hair, this is true. But wait! Pubes can't have diaries, you say? Well fuck you! I have one. And it is marvelous and full of nasty information.

By the way... Why on EARTH are you reading my diary! That's illegal in some places you know. You can be thrown in jail. Or worse... YOU COULD BE MURDERED.

Jail, oooooh boy let me tell you about jail. I'm writing from here as we speak. PUBES CAN'T SPEAK, YOU SAY? WELL FUCK YOU. I CAN! Well anyways... I've seen your jails. Bars of metal? I see metal often, it passes by and invades my human host on occasion. But that aside, prison for pubes is what you call; UNDERWEAR.

It's suffocation! And newborn pubes that are all pokey and stuff sometimes find their way through the confining fabric. Those lucky bastards.

And murder? Well murder... It's one of the worst things that can happen to a pube.

THE METAL RETURNS. Not in the form of human host jail, nor one of penetration in which we get this really nasty bath, the forsaken metal is out for our cuticles. IT CUTS US FROM THE BASE, SLISHING AND SLASHING AND DRAGGING AWAY MY SCREAMING PUBIC BROTHER AND SISTERS AWAY, WASHED DOWN THE DRAIN OF THE HUMAN HOST TO NEVER BE SEEN AGAIN.

Sometimes, this silly human host of mine is careless with her murdering device. She knicks the skin we pubes have made a home out of, and lets out all the precious red nutrients! You call it blood.

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT BLOOD. OMG. IT'S NASTY.

Where metal invades and more so then often, human rods of a different host, once a month for a series of days comes the dreaded PERIOD.

How nasty! My poor pubic brothers and sisters are bathed in blood. It smells too. Around this time is when our human host kills us the most. This one time, she didn't murder us, and for a while we rejoiced...

That is, until the blood came. The blood tangled my brother pubes and sister pubes together, and when the silly human went to clean our home up, she wasn't aware of the tangle and RIIIIIP... Gone. My human host screamed bloody murder (no pun intended).

From that day forth, our human killed a majority of us during the flood of the red sea.

Le sigh.

Signing off,

Pubic Hair Serial Number 00086352.

P.S. PUBIC HAIRS DON'T HAVE SERIAL NUMBERS YOU SAY? WELL I SAY FUCK YOU. I prefer to be called Larry

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><p><strong><span>*I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME*<span>**


	2. Chapter 2

**WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.**

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><p>Dear Pubic Diary of Doom,<p>

Le sigh. Just another day, laying dormant and waiting for something to happen in my human hosts' snatch. We are restless, withering away as we lie in this prison.

Today the host is wearing this lacy abomination over us. It has become even easier for newborn pubes to get through this god awful barrier.

We pubes, myself included, wish to be free. We want to feel the fresh air on our faces- PUBES DON'T HAVE FACES YOU SAY? WELL FUCK YOU! I HAVE SEVERAL!- and let the breeze cool down the heated surface of this dreaded vagina.

During this heat wave, my brother pube Earl was leaning my way and started whispering this weird ass shit to me. Not real ass shit though, Earl and I are at the top of the snatch.

"I heard that Elmer and Sally are trying to get themselves sick."

You see kids, WHOM SHOULD NOT BE READING MY DIARY, NOR ANY PUBE OR PERSON FOR THAT MATTER, when a pube gets sick, it means we want to give our human host a big nasty pimple, and what could be worse than a pimple on le snatch?

Nothing, that's what.

So Elmer and Sally according to Earl were having a race to see you could make the biggest, meanist pimple. I totally has my dry flakes of skin monies on Sally. That bitch is a masochistic motherfucker.

Elmer is more a sadist than anything, he enjoys pulling on his roots and make the human host scream at the most inappropriate times.

Le sigh.

Just another day in the life of Larry the Upstate Pubic Hair.

Signing off with a whiff,

Larry.

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><p><strong><span>*I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME*<span>**


End file.
